


Don't Let the Memory Die

by Bloodysyren



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:28:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22321831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodysyren/pseuds/Bloodysyren
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Kudos: 3





	Don't Let the Memory Die

Director Fury was being taken away by medics in crisp blue uniforms when Steve returned to his destroyed apartment. His secret-agent neighbour had disappeared. The police had come and gone. He was alone, left to reorganize everything, picking up the large pieces of a broken lamp, shattered as he stormed through a window, shield secure, battle ready. But he wasn’t prepared when he heard a second intruder. First Fury, now this. His protective shield a dozen yards away. Unreachable.  
He stood quickly as he saw the flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning defensively he saw a tall, built figure, rugged and powerful standing in the shadows. He made a sudden start towards the intruder but the man held up his hands in silent reassurance. He was unarmed. And didn’t say a word.  
“Who are you?” Steve spat accusingly. He was tired, exhausted. His heart just wasn’t in it for another brutal fight tonight. He noticed the silvery flash of metal and realized it was the assassin, Fury’s killer. But why had he come back?  
“What do you want? Are you coming after my life now too?” The soldier questioned his intruder a little less harshly now, stepping up to this masked killer. But he didn’t utter a sound. They faced each other mutely. Steve was visibly shaking. From sheer exhaustion or from tense excitement, he didn’t know. The masked man stood close to Steve but he could hear no breath. Not a sound was heard for moments as the soldier and his boss’s killer stood face to face. Steve’s mouth was set in a rigid expression of defiance, wondering what the next seconds would hold.  
Out of nowhere, the assassin’s hand shot out. It was warm and tight around Steve’s neck. Alive. He felt his body being shoved up against the wall. Felt himself struggling against the fingers of this man whose body was as taught as the string of a bow. Powerful. Deadly. The soldier flung his arms out, latching onto this man’s arm, dug his nails into the protective Kevlar armour, trying to free his body in any way he could.  
But as his mind calmed down by degrees he noticed that the fingers were holding him against the wall but not tightening, not cutting off his air supply, merely trapping him against the flat cool surface. The assassin’s body was inching closer to Steve’s as he ceased fighting against this man whose reflexes were faster than his, whose body was stronger than his, whose willpower seemed to dwarf Steve’s by leagues.  
The assassin’s other hand came into play, slowly creeping beneath Steve’s t-shirt, soaked with sweat from the excruciating fight earlier. The soldier could feel the chill of this metal appendage and it made his skin crawl. He leaned his head to the side, closing his eyes. Wishing for sleep, wishing for release. But through his discomfort he felt something familiar creep over him. Some faint memory of pleasure. Something from his distant past. Those seemingly robotic fingers traced the indentations of Steve’s stomach, sweeping over his skin like the memory of a wound. It made the soldier flinch as if against some impending pain.  
Steve felt his pants being undone and started breathing heavier. He could feel his heart pulsing wildly in his throat. He was sure this dangerous man could feel it too. He tried to even out his breathing but the eroticism of these sensations was winding him up. He shouldn’t be feeling this way. He shouldn’t be anticipating the exciting throb of his cock between his legs. He shouldn’t be drawn this way to this powerful beast of a killer. But what could he do. No one was here as a decoy. There was no distraction, no focus but him. His body. His body…  
The assassin’s metal arm continued its decent and curled, cool and hard, around Steve’s leaking shaft. He studied that powerful addition and wondered whether the overlapping plates would pinch. He squeezed his eyes shut and readied himself for the painful truth, but as those artificial digits closed around him, caught in that strong sure grip, he was almost pleasantly surprised and relaxed against the wall again. That warm hand was still locked around his throat, holding him in place. He tried to make out the dark features in such dim light but to no avail.  
Those metal fingers tightened around Steve’s cock and stroked up as the soldier took in one long agonizing breath. He gasped as that hand slid down and he felt his body getting weaker. There was something so familiar about this man. The memory was hazy and unclear and was made even worse by the continued blissful pleasure of those fingers on his aching sex. The pressure let up for a moment as Steve’s hands shot forward, fumbling with the clasp of this man’s pants, releasing his dripping length to the almost stiflingly warm air of the room. The soldier was bold now, unafraid. Fuelled by the tempting offer of damning release,  
“If you’re going to do me a favour like this, I might as well return your generosity.” He smirked, that halo of golden hair flashing in the moonlight piercing through the broken window, a dagger of light. He curled his fingers possessively around the other man’s cock and yanked, bringing their hips closer together. Steve could feel the heat of this man’s body but still heard no sound. He tried his best to focus on all of these different sensations and felt the assassin’s cock, heavy and warm in his palm. It throbbed, thick and slick with prejack. Alive.  
He realized that this man was just like him. Steve felt spikes of greed erupt from his heart like a toxin. Those fingers closed tighter around him and stroked him hard. Desperate, craving strokes that made his head reel. Those living fingers squeezing like a vice around the one area that could literally bring him to his knees. He caught himself panting, sweating like a liar caught. He was matching this man’s delicious pressure on his cock. He thought for a moment what he must look like. This was a different kind of battle altogether.  
The assassin’s hand was speeding up, a secret feud between them, silently accepted and matched. Who would come first. The cool pressure of that metal arm jerking the soldier off like a piston was getting Steve intoxicatingly close. He felt the pressure on his throat tighten and he squeezed his fingers more forcefully around the assassin’s dripping cock, loving the addictive dangerous pressure. His vision was starting to blur but he wouldn’t be beaten. He made one last desperate attempt at victory and swiped his thumb over the damp sensitive head of his captor, feeling him buckle beneath the blinding pleasure of Steve’s sure grip.  
As Steve’s body finally gave in to desire, he felt his assailant shoot dripping hot over his clenched fist. His own body betrayed him to the clenching fingers of lust and they squeezed tight around him as he screwed his eyes shut and with a gasp felt his long-denied release, molten hot, shoot from the head of his cock only to splatter against the shimmering metal of the assassin’s arm. The soldier’s head met the wall with a thunk and he lay like a discarded toy, slumped against the floor.  
When Steve awoke he put a hand to his temple delicately. Blood had dried, matting his hair like his assailant’s release against his sweat-soaked shirt. He struggled to his feet carefully and made his way slowly to the shower. As he stripped off his shirt and pants, he seemed to recall a vague memory, or was it a dream? Scents from the past: pomade and clean starched wool, the faint reek of fresh blood and the strong musk of hidden desires flooded his mind. He braced himself against the counter with the painful sting of a memory, hanging his head. He felt dizzy.  
Memories that he thought he had locked away in his heart decades ago came flooding back to the front of his mind. He recalled the past as if it was yesterday. Then the shocking jolt of the recent past hit him like a blow to the chest. He collapsed against the counter, sitting on the cool tiled floor, pulling his knees against his chest, his eyes losing focus to tears blurring the bone-white tiles. The coppery smell of dried blood filled his nostrils and he could feel telltale wetness streaming down his cheeks. Hugging his legs tighter he buried his face in his knees,  
“…Bucky….”


End file.
